


Four Lives - Four Times

by darkolai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Character Death, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, OOC, Soulmates, if you cant handle major character death don't read chapter three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 06:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30034710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkolai/pseuds/darkolai
Summary: They parted ways, and (almost), forgot about each other. The Fate though, had other plans for them, she knew their hearts, she had made them for each other, she could not let their souls go. This indiouis thing wanted them to be together, and she will make them be. Doesn't matter how many lives they have to live. Doesn't matter how many times she’ll have to make them meet.Fate made them for each other. They’ll never win this game.The threats of Fate had connected them this night.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Theodore Nott, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. MOZART // FRANCE 1812

_ PRELUDE: (noun)  _

_ Pronunciation / ˈprelˌ(y)o͞od/ /ˈprɛlˌ(j)ud/ /ˈprāˌl(y)o͞od/ /ˈpreɪˌl(j)ud/ _

_ An introductory piece of music, most commonly an orchestral opening to an act of an opera, the first movement of a suite, or a piece preceding a fugue. _

His hands were wrapped around her waist while they danced. The music - Waltz in F major by Mozart, - was beautiful. He should’ve been in the ballroom, dancing with all these lovely girls that wanted to be his bride. She wondered if it’d be different -  _ easier _ \- if she’d be one of them. He probably wouldn't even look at her, he hates all the society and especially the royalty. He had so many ideas, ambitions… but he would never ever do that. He’d never do something against his family. She felt a lump in her throat, God, she wanted to run away with him… she wanted to do something - something real, - with him; change the world, make people happy (live with him her whole life and marry him somewhere in the north).

“Sometimes,” he whispered, his head buried in her hair, his eyes closed.

She thought she imagined that. 

But then he repeated, “sometimes, I think we should run away.” He rubbed his chain on the top of her head. “Sometimes, I want to.”

She- she didn't know what to say. This situation, his words, his  _ gentleness  _ stunned her. 

“I-,” she started.

“No,” he cut her off, apparently it was way roughly then he wanted it to be so he gently “don’t… don’t ruin the moment.” And then, “ _ beloved. _ ”

She could never imagine him calling her like that. The truth is, she could never imagine him calling him any pet name. It’s just… wasn’t his style. She almost said “ _ WHAT?!”  _ Almost pushed him away, almost asked “what’s wrong?” 

She didn’t. His words;  _ beloved,  _ did something to her - scared her to death and yet made her the happiest ever. It was the closest thing to “I love you” she could ever get from him. She always said, “ _ I love you, I love you, I love you”  _ he could never answer - she never waited for one. She knew though if he tells her he loves her - it is (whatever on earth is going on between them) over.

“I’ll marry,” he said, “tomorrow.” 

She felt the tears but she didn't want to cry in front of him. So she pushed him away raising her head looking at him, searching for any hint that his words were a joke. That he wasn't getting married, that he hadn't just told her that. 

But there were none. There wasn’t even a chuckle on his face, he had the most serious expression she ever saw. 

She  _ hated  _ it. 

“No…” He was looking at her so calm, so cold and unconcerned… She hated him for that. How could he still be wearing his mask, after all this time they were- she couldn't complete the sentence even in her head. She wanted to slap him, yell at him, tell everyone everything about their relationship (the other part of her mind - the heartless - mockingly noticed how different their statuses are and that no one would believe her if The Prince would even  _ pay attention  _ to the story his crazy maid most likely made up), but mostly, she wanted to cry. Noisy, ugly, with screams, snivels and hard sobs; like she did when she was five or six and someone called her ugly. 

She took a deep breath. Inhaled.  _ One, two, three, four.  _ Exhaled.  _ Five, six, seven, eight. Good, just like your mother taught you. _

But she couldnt it felt like her lungs broke she couldn't- she could not breathe. The panic started in her stomach, curling and swirling, rose and rose until all her body was too tense. She wanted to scream.

He stepped forward, “listen… I-,”

“No, please,” she sobbed, “dont,” she pushed him away again, this one harder, and then she coldly added, “you should get back.”

“Can you-…”  _  
  
_

_ “Let me explain myself.”  _ Was left in the air as she shook her head and cut him off. 

“NO!” Came up louder than she expected but she didn't care. Not anymore. “You should get back,” she spitted. “ _ Please.” _

Please don't do that to me. Please don't make me cry. Please stop looking at me like that. Please just break my heart and go. Please don't make yourself a good person with no choice. Please. - She wanted to say. But she couldn't. She just started to sob, turned away - away from him - with a perfectly straight spine and walked away, just like that; not letting him to say he  _ loves  _ her, not letting him to- 

He didn't know what he wanted to say, but he certainly didn't want to end things with her like  _ this.  _ The truth was, he didn't mean to tell her that at all, he wanted her to know that from the news or somewhere else and then… well then she just would’ve stopped talking with him and everything would've been easier, no tears (at least in front of him), no dramas and, he wouldn't feel like he just murdered her soul. He knew he would (will) miss her, he knew it’d be… hard? Weird? Not to talk with or not to touch her or- but he never really thought he was serious about her. 

Now he knew he was.  _ Too serious _ , he thought, turning around and walking to the castle. He should stop thinking about her. Maybe, sending her somewhere could have helped him, not seeing her around or, he should have given her to his future wife as a symbol that he forgot her…

He thought through that way too much, he realised, he definitely should not worry about some maid’s fate… but she- she made him feel  _ regular _ . She made him feel like disagreeing with him,  _ fighting  _ with him was as usual as fighting with any other maid or person. He liked that, other people were always so careful around him, he could see what they think “ _ I must not make The Prince bothered.” _ It was funny, sometimes.

And sometimes it made him furious, especially when he was younger, (he chuckled to himself as he hadn't turned sixteen just now). He didn’t know what to do. He  _ wanted  _ to turn around and to ask - to beg - her to run away with him, to at least listen to him. On the other hand he  _ had  _ to go to the castle, dance with his soon to be wife and be a good son. 

The Prince did what he had to, he had given his beloved to his wife, he took all his feelings and put these in a little box and buried them inside, he almost forgot about the maid he had fallen for at the age sixteen. He almost did. He knew, even before he tried to, he would never forget her, she was bright, just as the sun and he… he couldn’t do anything but wanting her, not on a physical level no. It was deeper. Harder. He  _ needed  _ her. But, as said before, The Prince could and would never betray his own family. 

They parted ways, and (almost), forgot about each other. The Fate though, had other plans for them, she knew their hearts, she had made them for each other, she could not let their souls go. This indiouis thing wanted them to be together, and she will make them be. Doesn't matter how many lives they have to live. Doesn't matter how many times she’ll have to make them meet. 

Fate made them for each other. They’ll never win this game. 

The threats of Fate had connected them this night.

  
  
  



	2. TCHAIKOVSKY // RUSSIA 1884

_ “WE ARE ASLEEP UNTIL WE FALL IN LOVE” _

_ War and Peace, Leo Tolstoi _

“Oh! That was so awesome, father,” she started, “I’m so happy he finally…” she said more and more and more, so excited and happy. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She wasn’t his type, not at all. But there was something so… intriguing about her. She looked as if she actually enjoyed every single moment of her life and he desired it, her will to live, her happiness, everything about her was new but somehow familiar… he didn't understand what was happening to him. 

  
  


He had always felt strange towards her, it felt like he had known her from somewhere, he didn't know from where though, she was just a girl when they first met, young, innocent and pure. He admired that about her, she was just sixteen, - the age you go to your first go to the society, dance your first Waltz… he missed those days - he was twenty, happily married, having business with her father. That’s how he first saw her, she was fifteen thenn, going to her father’s office all happy how the stableman let her to help him with the horses and especially - Rosa. (He did not know why he remembered all this conversation, he did not know why he stood there, listening to her so attentively.)

She ran into when he still was there, and stopped by the door, stared at him and blushed. He fought with himself - at the first second - not to laugh. She was so funny, so simple. It caught his attention from the first second. She, while he was scanning her, finally mastered herself and went to her father’s table, sitting on it as if he - a stranger and a man! - wasn’t there. That was… imputed and he, was very surprised to find out that he liked it. 

One year later she started to come to all the dance nights searching for a husband. Usually, he would watch her from his seat next to his wife, and wonder, what if they’d meet sooner, what if… he did not want her to get married, there was something in her, some  _ freedom  _ that he never had and he wanted her to keep it. He felt good when he watched her, it was her charm. 

One night, - Waltz of the Flowers was playing and he has always associated this melody with her, - he couldn't resist his will to dance with her. His wife looked at him silently asking “where are you going?”; she knew he didn’t love to dance and he said something about “I need to get closer to her father for business” (years later he realised his wife didn't believe him that night, she was a smart woman and knew how to read him,) and stood up. 

He asked the girl for a dance and she, as the first time she saw him, adorably blushed but accepted his request. 

She didn’t talk or smile, she was too confused, after all, he is a grown up man and asked her for a dance! She… she definitely liked him more then all the young boys she has been talking to, they all were so selfish and narcissistic. She heard that he, was intelligent and had read the same books as her (that was all rumors but she hoped they were true). 

She wanted to talk with him, ask something, make it less embarrassing. He was gently holding her waist and hand. She liked the feeling of him holding her but she couldn’t ignore the fact that he was studying her face. 

“So,” he softly said.

“So?” She repeated enchanted by the atmosphere; it felt like they were soaring above the floor, dancing with fairies. 

He softly chuckled when she finally met his eyes. He found himself studying her way more time than he should. Especially her lips. 

“How is your family Knyazhna*?” He asked fighting with the desire to bury his head in her hair and inhale deeply to find out how she smells. He bet it was sweet but with sharp tones, just as her personality. 

“Very good, thanks.” She didn’t know how to react, all this; the atmosphere, his eyes studying her, his voice, was confusing. “How is yours, Knyaz*?” She quickly added.

“Very well,” he replied. They were silent for more, still waltzing in the middle of the hall. The situation became awkward, but there was still some magic in it. 

The music stopped. He didn’t want to let her go, she didn’t want to leave his embrace but the reality; his wife, her searching for a husband sank. So he did, he kissed her hand, murmured “thanks for the dance, Knyazhna.” Watched her cheeks coloring into the lovely pink he liked so much and left her. 

His wife was waiting for him, “How did it go, darling?” She asked, concerned and curious more than ever. 

“Good,” he kissed her cheek, “do you want to dance?” He asked. 

He felt like he had to apologise, like he did something wrong. He danced with his wife, only thinking about how it’d be, to dance with  _ her _ . To have her as his  _ wife. _ He dreamed of it, he wanted to have the right to take care of her, to dance with her, to-

he cut himself and looked around. She could never be  _ his.  _ And, he already has a wife. He should not be dreaming about other women,  _ especially  _ while dancing with her. Suddenly he was ashamed, what was he thinking when he asked the girl for a dance? He hoped no one thought about looking at them… and still, when he and the girl danced, it was  _ magical,  _ he wanted to feel this again, at least once. He wished they would have met before. Before his wedding, before everything so he could have proposed to her so he could… He also wished that he would never meet her. If he wouldn't then all this wouldn't happen and then he’d never know this feeling and just lived without problems.

Not that he called it a problem, a little interest wasn’t a problem. He could hide it. And he did so. 

And again, they parted ways and forgot each other, just as the last time.

Fate was angry, but realised that she should give them more comfortable circumstances. She promised herself that in their next life, they’ll have something. At least more than in this life. 

  
  
  


Knyazhna - almost a princess 

Knyaz - almost a prince 

  
  
  


  
  
  



	3. THE FIRST TIME // ITALY 1915

_ “WAR IS NO GOOD FOR THE YOUNG, OR FOR LOVE.” _

_ Dark of the West, Joanna Hathaway.  _

This life, they meet at the hospital wing. She was a nurse and he was the soldier. Everything was so usual - finding love in the middle of a war isn’t a good idea. She knew, she couldn’t resist to the idea of hope. She could not resist to the idea of the illusion of normalcy, even if this illusion didn’t last longer than the moment their lips were touching. 

They used to kiss a lot. They didn’t want to talk, not about the war, nor about home. It was hard times they never thought about the future. Every day felt like the last one. They did not need to talk to know each other’s thoughts. The truth was, no one needed to talk to know the other’s thoughts, everyone thought about the same  _ “I need to survive today,”  _ was in the air.

Sometimes, when he fell asleep on her bed she used to tell him things about herself,  _ “I was five when my dad taught me to read”  _ or  _ “in my village everyone are so kind, I hope I can take you there”  _ and sometimes, only in the most intimate moments, she could whisper,  _ “one day, I will marry you”  _ she hoped, he was asleep all these times, she never knew to read him as well as he read her. 

He never really fell asleep, he always heard everything she said, he always asked himself, would it be different, if there wasn’t any war. He knew it would, he knew (she did too, although they tried to push the truth as far as they could), he would never look at her if there wasn’t any war. 

Only the conditions made him think about her. 

When she fell asleep, he started to talk, he said lots of things, whispered secrets he never thought he’d tell anyone, said everything; about his scars, his passions, his childhood. In these moments he imagined them in his bed, in his house, that she is his wife. It was so warm, he almost physically felt the invisible walls that his mind built around them. 

If he could, he would hide her from all the pain, all the misery they had to go through, he wanted to protect her. 

Time to say goodbyes came too early but, war, isn't the exact best time to wallow in feeling. Especially romantic, especially of this kind; the kind that gave people hope. They knew, both of them, that this time will come. Both weren’t ready.

Last night, last kiss, last interlacing of bodies. 

He made her a present, little ring, from his uniform. Softly kissed her temple as she fell asleep. 

“Now you don’t have to dream about being my wife.” It was the closest to the  _ “I love you”  _ she whispered when her body burned under him, and even now, she couldn’t hear that. 

He did not know one thing - she was pregnant. Pregnant with  _ his  _ child. She wondered if he’d leave if she’d told him. All these reflections made her cry. Every time. So she promised herself; not to remember him nor to think about him. 

When his best friend sent her a little note marked with blood, -  _ written by blood, -  _ and she got it from the other nurse, she didn’t want to open it. It was her third week and notes like this - could never mean something good. 

_ He died.  _

Was all the note said. She thought, maybe, it’s not really fo her, maybe it’s not his best friend, maybe it was meant to someone else some who has fell in love as she did and-

She looked at the ring on her finger (it wasn’t exactly a ring, more like a bandage on her finger but she liked to call it officially, - her  _ engagement ring,  _ she used to say with a soft smile to all the people who asked) and she knew it was him. 

She wanted to throw up. She wanted to cry. To do- to do something,  _ anything.  _ She felt horribly empty. She felt like-

And then she remembered about the child.  _ Their child _ . She should do it, she should be alive, for the child. For the happiness she could give to the little human growing inside her. 

She died a few months after, had early contraction. Her body was weaken by the war and the stress it caused. She wouldn’t make the childbirth alive anyway. 

The baby died three days later. She had no milk.


	4. HERMIONE // ENGLAND 1995 - 1996

_ SOULMATE; (noun) _

_ Pronunciation / ˈsōl ˌmāt/: soulmate a person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner. _

Her dreams are chaotic. Full of pain, mostly, but sometimes, there’s something else in his eyes. Gentleness, affection and, finally, love. Her dreams are like a bunch of scenes from different films, put together. It’s not bad. It’s weird and she can’t understand why Fate wants to show her just these fragments. The most painful ones. Usually (from what Hermione has read,) the dreams are about you with your soulmate doing something regular; with no fights. But hers… in her dreams they fight all the time; she sarcastically thinks about how the reality is so close to this. She, actually hates it. 

She knew who he was before she woke up. Before she even finished the dream. 

Her first thought was  _ “I need to see him”  _ and the second was “ _ I should skip breakfast and try to avoid him for forever” _ . After all, he hated her. Passionately, you could say. And, well she couldn’t really do that after everything she discovered but- she hates him. 

“So, who is he?” Is the first thing Ron said as she sat in front of him. Hermione took a deep breath fighting the desire to spit  _ “none of your business”  _ and grab the green tea Harry, so caringly, like only he could, made her. 

“None of your business, Ron” Ginny said from her seat and finished her toast. Hermione has never been so thankful. And then she realised, she was facing the Slytherin table. Her eyes started to search for his face and- yes. 

Malfoy was sitting there, cold as usual with his right hand around Parkinson’s shoulders and the other lying on the table. He looked so calm and- oh, Hermione hated to think that, but, she had to admit; Draco Malfoy was handsome. Handsome with his platinum hair, stupid grin, sharp chin and these beautifal light half grey, half blue, eyes. Goddamn eyes that looked at her with this arrogance, always. And even now.

Even now?! 

She blushed when she realised she was staring at him. She hoped he wouldn't think anything… wrong. Well, he was her soulmate, she bet (with herself), that he wouldn't assume such a disaster. She looked at him, angrily as (she hoped), she always did and looked away. 

~ ~ ~ 

When Dumbledore’s Army was caught he was holding her. She enjoyed his touch, it was weird but- he wasn’t holding her aggressively, it felt like he was trying not to hurt her at all. She found it… sweet? She wondered if it’s the soulmate thing making  _ him _ touch  _ her  _ so softly? Or was it making  _ her  _ find even  _ his  _ painful touch soft? She chuckled when she realised that she’ll probably never find out; Draco will never accept that his soulmate is some  _ mudblood _ and she’ll never accept that her soulmate is some  _ toplofty stupid boy.  _

When she ran to Harry she felt his hand softly letting her go. He touched her for a moment longer than he had to. It made her heart warm. 

  
  


~ ~ ~ 

They had a project in Charms and she got Draco as her partner. (By the year he became  _ Draco,  _ not  _ Malfoy _ in her head.) She was… actually happy. He is the only rival she had in Hogwarts and she wanted to know, how it is, to have a partner who was  _ actually  _ interested in the grade and the material. 

Apparently, a project with Draco Malfoy wasn’t the worst thing. They fight a lot but, mostly about what to write. Sometimes he’d teased her. But he wasn’t mean as before, it was just a part of their communication. She still didn’t like him (Hermione didn’t care what The Fate told her, she can choose for herself - always been and always will be - her position about soulmates), and he didn’t like her. Still, he was a bit cold and never talked about anything but the project but it felt more... like he thought she was a human being, not a bug to smash. 

He also stopped to call her  _ “mudblood” _ and this moment, was probably the one she was the most thankful for. 

They got O. 

She would’ve hugged him right there. (She almost did). She could never do it. 

~ ~ ~

She always watched him, just to make sure he was all right. Just to make sure she never had and never will have a chance. At the end of the fifth year he looked a bit… lost? That was probably the right word. She could also describe him as  _ miserable  _ or  _ unhappy  _ but could Draco Malfoy feel these emotions? Probably not. 

She wanted to ask him : Are you all right? Do you need to talk? Yet Hermione knew that all she could get from him is : What do you want, Granger? Or : Get out of my way,  _ mudblood. _

She hoped he would say the first. Hermione didn’t know why she would care so much if he’d call her mudblood. After all, he was the first person who had called her that. There was no big deal. One more time, one less. 

But somehow, there was. At least for her. She blamed the project. After that there was some kind of…  _ truce (?)  _ between them. Hermione could not think about a word that would’ve explained this situation better but even this one wasn’t the right word to describe what happened. He hasn't called her mudblood since then. She hoped Draco wouldn't start again. 

She sat with Harry. She didn’t talk to Draco. She couldn't do it. She wished to be braver, as all her house. Gryffindors are known for being brave - if so Hermione wasn’t sure if The Sorting Hat had chosen the right house. She chuckled. 

The chuckle thing was something she took from Draco and she didn’t know how to fight with. She didn’t mind. She hoped he won’t pay attention to it when he’ll remember.  _ If  _ he will remember - she realised. She had read about it - not all your lives you remember about your past lives. Especially about your soulmate. 

Hermione closed her eyes. Her heart ached from the thought that he will not remember anything. It also ached from the thought that he will remember and  _ reject  _ her. She did not know what she had hated more. 

“Hermione?” Harry’s soft voice woke her up from her unhappy thoughts. She blinked twice, to drive off the tears her thoughts caused. 

“Yes Harry?” His eyes beyond the ridiculous glasses studied her face for a bit. 

“Nothing,” he ran his hand through his hair and mumbled, “I’m here for you.” He had a sad smile. He went through a hard time after Cedric’s death. Then after Sirius’s and he still was a great friend. Hermione felt ashamed when she realised that she was too concentrated on Draco this year. She was a terrible friend to Harry. Thankful tears were in her eyes as she leaned to him and let Harry hug her.    
  
“I know,” she whispered into his shirt. “Me too.”

The train had begun to move.

_ Final Number One. _

  
  
  



	5. DRACO // ENGLAND 1996-1998

_ LIAR: (noun) _

_ Pronunciation /ˈlī(ə)r/: a person who lies _

Loads of people are sick; they have, Amnesia, Flu, Diarrhea, Cancer… Draco has a disease too. Draco cannot tell the truth. 

__

Draco Malfoy is a liar. 

__

After he got The Dark Mark he told his mother “ _ I am fine”  _ smiled and kissed her cheek. Narcissa’s cheek was wet and her eyes searched  _ something  _ on his face. Dracl assumed she searched for a sign of emotions. She was worried, he knew. She would understand. But Malfoy couldn’t say “ _ my hand hurts so bad I want to cut it off”  _ or “ _ I am not all right” _ or “ _ why did you made me do this”  _ and sob as he wanted to. The words stuck to his tongue; Draco walked away feeling Narcissa’s worried eyes on him. 

__

He walked into his room. Took a shower. Every movement was so mechanical. He didn’t feel. Anything. At all. His body ached. He lied on his bed, wondering about how his father felt. Was Lucius proud of him? Was he ashamed? And his mother, Narcissa? How did she feel? 

__

She didn’t love Voldemort’s ideas. Draco was sure about that. Narcissa loved him. He knew that. Did she pity him? It would be the worst thing. 

__

Fun fact about Draco: he hated pitiness. 

__

Then Draco thought about Granger; what would she say if she’d find out that her soulmate is a death eater? What would she’d say if she’d find out that her soulmate  _ kills  _ people of her kind? 

__

Draco laughed, silently. She will never find out. He caught some weird glances from her last year but… he thought it was because he stopped calling her mudblood. He stopped because… he knew what was going to happen. He thought that, maybe, it’s the least nice thing he could do for her. So he did. 

__

When he found out she was his soulmate he… he didn’t have the time to freak out. He didn’t have the time to realise it - he had to hide it from everyone, especially Bella who was training him. 

__

He didn’t tell anyone. Anyone at all. Pansy asked him many times, Zabine a few, Nott… Theo didn’t. It was odd since Theo was the most excited when they were kids. Maybe he grew up, or maybe he became miserable. Or something else. Draco didn’t have the energy to care. He had too many things to care about - Narcissa, Voldemort living in his house, Bella training him, his father going mad, Granger… Malfoy did not know at what moment she appeared on the list but he couldn't erase her from it. It felt  _ right _ \- to think about her, every night. It felt  _ right _ \- to remember every little glance she gave him. It felt  _ right _ \- to wonder where she would be at the exact moment. It felt so  _ right  _ and yet was so  _ wrong _ . She was the only thing he could think about without going mad. After thoughts about her, he could finally sleep.

__

~ ~ ~

__

He broke down at school - of course, - he couldn’t stop crying. He stood there, trying to wash his face. Trying to  _ breathe. _ But he couldn’t. He couldn’t stop shaking. He looked at the mirror, finding his own, absolutely mad eyes. He tried to calm down himself. Of course, nothing helped. For a moment, he thought that, maybe he could think about Granger and then… Draco screamed. He was so pitiful. Really? Granger? That is what he thought for the first thing to calm down? A nervous laugh came out of his throat. 

__

“Fine, Draco it’s just a tarsh year, yeah,” he didn’t recognize his own voice. But he couldn’t- he couldn't make it. and then he gave up. He let all the memories about Granger flood him. How she looked this morning, sitting next to Potter explaining him something very serious. Then, in Potions, how  _ cute (?!?) _ she looked with her hair up being so stressed about her grade. The third was her in lunch running to (again) Potter which gave her an apple and she flew out. Fourth; when he caught her in the library just today reading some muggle book so Granger’s hair hiding her face. 

__

His breaths remained to be torn and small but Draco felt himself calming down. For a moment, he imagined that she was calming him. But just for a moment no longer because, if he’d thought about that for a little longer he might’ve cried.

__

Draco didn’t want to cry.

_   
  
  
  
_

~ ~ ~ 

_   
  
_

He looked at her. All the bloody time. He couldn’t stop himself. Every time he looked at Granger the tense in his body -  _ in his head  _ \- calmed down a little. And these tiny glances let him breathe. Draco felt like he’s drowning, and Granger was like a breath of air before the water covered him and he had to fight it. Again.

__

At Charms, she was sitting near Potter and telling him something funny. 

__

At DADA, Granger sat with Weasley and Draco couldn’t look at them, flirting and having fun. 

__

At Arithmancy, she was sitting alone with her hair up. Draco asked himself if she remembers him. He also asked himself if her skin was as soft as it looked.

__

At Potions, Granger glanced at Potter angrily and did not talk to him. 

__

While he had History of Magic with Hufflepuff Granger had something else with Ravenclaw and Draco assumed she sat with some Ravenclaw - she could never miss such an opportunity to study. 

__

They had other classes next hour. 

__

~ ~ ~

The bloody Golden Trio wasn’t back to Hogwarts at the seventh year. 

__

Draco thought he'd lose himself right there, at The Great Hall when he did not see Granger sitting next to Potter mumbling something into his bloody ear. Merlin… Draco was so so worried. But, he knew, Granger would go with the two arseholes she called best friends to the end of the world without any hesitation. He almost hated her, for what she did. He hated her for not remembering  _ anything.  _ Or, maybe she did, but hid it.  _ Lied,  _ as Draco did. 

__

“Draco?” Theo’s voice woke him up. 

__

One thing that Draco knew about seventh year Theo was that he got The Dark Mark as well. 

__

“Theo,” he replied, taking a cup of tea. 

__

“I know,” Theo softly said, then leaned to Draco a bit, “I know about Granger.”

__

There was a little pause between them before Nott chuckled and added, “it wasn’t hard to find out since all you did last year was looking at her.” Draco glanced at Theo, warning him. Asking him to stop. Theo, clever Theo of course saw the glance, “mine is Potter,” he spitted, “if you want to use that against me if I’ll ever betray you.” He bitterly said. 

__

Draco nodded. It meant - thanks. It meant - my friend. It meant - I understand.

__

They stopped talking just like that, as Malfoy liked. No “thanks” or “enjoy the food” Draco was sure, Granger alway told her friends-idiots.

~ ~ ~

__

When the bloody  Snatchers bringed The Bloody Golden Trio to Maloy Manor Draco thought he was going crazy. He wanted to protect them - he wanted to protect  _ her. _ His crazy aunt was asking him again and again; “ _ Do you recognize him Draco? Is it the famous Harry Potter?”  _ And laughed into his ear he felt cold goosebumps. 

__

“No,” he said again and again. 

__

“No” meant - please let them go. “No” meant - please let  _ her  _ go. “No” meant - I don't wanna be here. 

__

Draco will remember Granger’s screams, sobs and cries until he will die. He was sure about that. He watched her curl into a ball at his living room while Bella hysterically tortured her - just as Lestrange loved. 

__

Bellatrix called her mudblood forty four times. Draco counted. He wanted to protect Granger but, again, what could he do against his crazy aunt and father? Nothing. 

__

He almost felt her pain. It was all consuming and horrifying. She (or he, he wasn’t sure anymore) was shaking.

__

When his aunt was cutting her hand, drawing on her hand this stupid word Draco couldn’t look. Granger screamed louder. And then, when he finally looked at her, so weak, so little, she wasn't curled into a ball no more. She stopped fighting. When his eyes met hers, another tear fell from her eyes and he knew, she remembered everything. All the times he broke her heart in their past lives. All the time he hurt her. All the times they had to say goodbye. She closed her eyes. She was saying goodbye to him with this little glance. She was ready to die. He wondered if she was thinking about their meeting next life. He wondered if they'd meet. 

__

He mumbled a little “ _ goodbye” _ she didn’t hear. That no one heard. 

__

The Golden Trio escaped Malfoy Manor and Draco was so thankful for Potter’s luck. And, probably, Merlin’s mercy. 

_   
  
_

_ Final Number Two.  _

__   
  



	6. THE FINAL BALL // RIGHT WORDS

_ “THE ONLY THING WORSE THAN A BOY WHO HATES YOU: _

_ A BOY THAT LOVES YOU.” _

_ The Book Thief, Markus Zusak. _

Hermione Granger was going to her prom. Ginny dressed her up and well, Hermione could call herself… nice. Not as Ginny who was in a green dress with open sleeves and a corset. Nor as Luna with the lovely little black dress decorated by Lavegood herself with seashells. But she was… fine. She was wearing a bluish-gray simple dress. She smiled in the mirror. The dress colour was Draco’s eyes colour. She had a silver necklace - a bird. She felt as if she was this little bird. She felt finally… finally free. She was going to tell Draco everything today. She hoped he'd accept it, although he didn’t seem to remember her at all.

Harry and Ron were going to come today. To say hello to the teachers. To talk with everyone. To finally see Hogwarts again. To say goodbye to their house for almost forever. 

Harry was dating Theodore Nott. They were soulmates. They were going to tell everyone tonight. Hermione hoped that Harry’s braveness would inspire her to tell everything to Draco. She took a deep breath. 

“You look lovely, Hermione,” said Ginny while hugging her. “Just like a bird.” Hermione smiled upon these words. 

“That is exactly what I was thinking about,” replied Luna in her dreamy manner coming closer and hugging the both. 

“Me too,” said Hermione soaking up the moment. It was so full, of happiness, of love, of trying, of pain. It was beautiful. A single tear dropped from her eyes as she looked at the girls’ eyes. Full of tears too.

There was something so peaceful and magical in that very moment that Hermione wished it would’ve lasted forever. 

“Let’s go!” Said Ginny. 

~ ~ ~ 

Luna - clever Luna, - was the first to find out about Draco. She didn’t freak out or blame Hermione as later, Ron did. She just smiled at her in her own manner and wished luck to Hermione. Then Hermione told Ginny, who was surprised, yes, but not mad. Just a bit curious. She said something about “best students of Hogwarts” and laughed. 

Harry was the only one who took the news almost happily. He did not blame Hermione for not telling sooner - he was in the same situation. He hugged Hermione, softly, as only he could, and told her about Theo. 

Ron got it the hardest, he was sure they are soulmates, he was sure Hermione was his. He did not remember his own soulmate and he wanted Hermione to be his. He fought with her, a lot. But, when Weasley realised he can't do anything and has to deal with it - he did. 

~ ~ ~ 

They danced, she recognized The Emperor Waltz by Strauss and chuckled to herself. The first two episodes of their life they danced. Thinking about it, that is what they always did; danced. 

He was holding her carefully, scared (?) that she’ll run away. Or worse, reject him. He was a lot taller, and looked a lot better than the past two years. She supposed she did too. 

He buried his head in her hair -  _ exactly as he did in France, before saying he was going to marry,  _ \- her pulse raised. She leaned to him. Her breath tickled his neck. 

“So,” she said. She was the one who asked him for a dance she had to tell him. 

“So,” he replied. Raising his eyebrow in such a Malfoy-ish manner. 

She gathered all her courage for the next words to slide away from her mouth, suddenly noticing Harry kissing Nott in the other side of the Great Hall, “I don’t know if you remember me but-” she looked at their shoes, so close to each other yet so far, “you are my soulmate and-”

He kissed her. First just a touch of lips, nothing serious. He waited for her to react. And then she did it; opened her mouth letting his tongue slide into it and kiss her, - really kiss her. As she wanted him to do for three years. As she hoped, he wanted to do for two. 

It was  _ magical. _ They still were dancing but both his hands slided from her waist to her ribs slow-oly. 

U-up… Hermione choked feeling his tongue on her teeth. 

Do-own. Slowly, so erotically and softly. 

When they finally broke away from each other both were breathless. He put his forehead against hers as she pulled him down and kissed him again. Like kids do. 

They were the only ones in the room. They were the only ones in the galaxy.

Draco felt how all his insides were filled with something very  _ sweet.  _ Something very  _ good.  _

Something called  _ happiness. _

  
  


~ ~ ~

__ \- WHAT IS A SOULMATE? _ _

Hermione was in his shirt, making them break fast. 

_  
\- SOULMATE... _

Just as he loved. Her hair was up showing her soft neck which was exactly as soft as Draco thought. 

__

_ … SOUL MATE IS A PERSON IN WHOM  _

_ WE HAVE A PURE OR NATURAL FEELING _

_ OF AFFINITY… _

They were living with each other the past few years and looking back, Draco never understood why Granger picked him. 

_ … THIS CAN BE RELATED  _

_ TO THE  _

_ SIMILARITY… _

Maybe it was because he was as ambitious as she was and he always understood her will to work “ _ just a little bit more Draco, please” _ and he always just bring her a cup of green tea - just as she liked, and, carried her to bed when she fell asleep.

  
... _LOVINGLY..._

When he was tired, she massaged his head softly and left kisses on his neck. Just as he loved. 

_... WITH AFFECTION…  _

No matter when or how Draco kissed her, he felt the same warm desire to take her clothes off and to love her. To make her scream and he knew, - only he could and only he did. 

  
... _WITH INTIMACY..._  
  
  


When she burned under him she always whispered “ _ I love you”  _ \- just as in Italy. It broke his heart for a million pieces. Every time. 

  
... _WITH COMPATIBILITY..._

She was the sun for him. He was her moon. He was making her shine harder and she was making him feel alive. 

__

_ … WITH CONFIDENCE…  _

__

And Draco knew; whatever will happen. No matter how hard they’ll fight. No matter how it hurt him to be with her. He will come back to her. 

__

Because he loved her.

__

The Fate got what she wanted. She always did. They lost in this game but… both were happy to lose it. And Fate was sure; they’d lose it every time just to get a moment longer with each other. Just to see each other one more time. 

__

Fate threats were soft but powerful. Now, that they have known what it is, to be with each other. They’ll search for this - for them - every next life.

~ ~ ~ 

__

_ FINAL.  _

_   
  
  
_

_   
  
  
_


End file.
